


Over the Moon

by biggayrhys



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: (space puns), Alien AU, Alternate Universe - Aliens, M/M, Mostly Fluff, This is the opposite of a slow burn, len breaks his leg, len is an intergalactic thief, mick becomes a supervillain to keep his bf from doing stupid shit, mick is a farmer not an arsonist, mild whump, puns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:49:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23497045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biggayrhys/pseuds/biggayrhys
Summary: Len is an alien. Honestly, not much changes.
Relationships: Mick Rory/Leonard Snart
Comments: 10
Kudos: 79





	Over the Moon

**Author's Note:**

> betaed by the lovely thebridgebetweenus :) thank you !!

Mick Rory wakes early in the morning just before his alarm goes off. It’s just before four-thirty, he notes as he stares up at the ceiling. Fuck, he doesn’t wanna get up. His back aches and he forgot to get coffee at the store last Sunday.

The earth-shattering  _ boom _ that rocks his whole house—he can hear paintings and tchotchkes falling down—kind of takes the freedom to lay about away from him. He drags himself from the comfort of his warm sheets with one last lingering sigh before pulling jeans and a tank top on to go investigate, snatching up a gun from his dresser on his way out. 

Anxiety steadily fills Mick as he leaves the house, following the rising smoke and scent of flame to what looks like a giant silver ball partially embedded in the earth. As he approaches, a panel on the top folds back with a hiss of hydraulics and a single blue hand emerges.

Mick does a double-take, and—yes, the hand  _ is _ fucking  _ blue _ . What the actual fuck. 

Whatever’s in the pod doesn’t care about Mick’s mini-freak-out, steadily pulling itself out and—wow. Okay.

The alien is both  _ very _ humanoid and  _ very _ pretty. He’s about Mick’s height, with his aforementioned blue skin bright like a summer sky and deep,  _ deep _ , vivid red eyes, a solid scarlet from edge to edge. He doesn’t have visible pupils or irises. Mick mentally kicks himself; now is  _ not  _ the time for staring, but how many people get to see aliens in their lifetime? The alien’s got antennae, slender stalks with teardrop-shaped bulbs on the end glowing a deeper blue than his skin, and long, delicate ears ending in a point. Is he a he? Mick doesn’t want to be rude and assume an alien species has the same genders as humans. Aside from the weird coloring and antennae, he seems . . . surprisingly normal.

The alien pulls himself out of the pod, slips on the slick surface of the outside, and tumbles off the side, smacking onto the ground in front of Mick. “Ow, fuck!” he cries.

What. 

What the fuck is Mick’s day shaping up to be? 

“Uh. Are you . . . okay?” Mick’s idiot mouth says the words before his brain thinks about it. The alien gives him a  _ look _ .

“Peachy,” he snaps.

“What are you doing on my property?”

The alien gets to his feet, shaking the dust off his . . . space parka. “Which planet’s this, again?” he asks, more blasé than Mick really approves of. 

“Earth?”

The alien has the audacity to  _ fucking grimace. _ “Oh god. That backwater hole?” He seems to read Mick’s face before his mouth twitches in what is almost a smile. “I mean. Lovely planet?”

Mick stares him down. “I think you’d better come inside.”

The alien, with all the smug grace he can muster, follows Mick into the farmhouse, lounging,  _ actually fucking lounging like the world’s largest cat _ , on Mick’s couch while Mick himself takes the armchair. 

“Alright, I want answers. First of all, what are you doing on Earth? It’s pretty clear this wasn’t your intended destination.” Mick sighs, already tired. 

“I’m L’annwyd’llaw. I . . .” he pauses dramatically, raising a hand to his chest, “am the greatest thief in the galaxy.” 

Mick snorts. “Uh-huh. And why’d you crash-land in my backyard?”

The alien with the fucking unpronounceable name sniffs. “My getaway after my last heist went a little, shall we say, sideways. Meant to hop over to the next star cluster, hide out for a little while, but the control panel on my ship got sabotaged by my so-called partner.” 

A single eyebrow rises towards Mick’s hairline. “Alright,  _ Len _ . When are you going to leave?”

“Len? Wh—well, I guess you Terrans don’t have translator tech yet, so it makes sense that you wouldn’t be able to say it, but don’t get any ideas, now, alright?!” The newly-christened Len’s antennae turn a rich pink. Mick smirks. For a self-satisfied little bugger, he’s pretty cute.

Oh shit. Mick is  _ not _ letting himself get attached to the weird fucking alien in his living room. He is  _ not _ . 

Len grimaces. “I’d like to get off this little outer rim dustbin, but like I said, my control panel’s shot. No chance of me leaving ‘til I fix it.” 

“What do you need?”

The alien looks at him appraisingly. “Wouldn’t say no to crashing here for a bit. I gotta . . .  _ requisition  _ some things from . . . basically wherever I can get ‘em.” 

Mick spent enough time in juvie for arson before he’d gotten  _ real _ therapy to know what  _ that _ particular bit means. “You need a base of operations while you figure out where to get what you gotta get.”

Len nods, eyes bright with approval, and fuck, Mick could see himself getting addicted to that sly little grin. “So, you in? Gonna let me crash here for a bit?”

Against his better sense, Mick nods. “Guess so.”

* * *

  
  


It turns out that being an intergalactic alien thief’s roommate is pretty boring. Len is a mess, leaving clothes and bits of alien tech everywhere, and the only thing he seems to care about keeping neat are the blueprints he’s constantly writing on, but the really unfortunate part is that Len is  _ endearing _ . The little wrinkle between his eyes as he works, his long elf-ears twitching as he hums and thinks, his antennae changing colors with his mood . . . all of it slips under Mick’s skin until the farmer realizes something terrible. He’s going to  _ miss  _ Len when he fixes his ship and leaves. Figures that he’d fuck up his  _ one _ goal of not getting attached to the alien. 

For his part, Len is fairly generous with information; none of it’s  _ personal _ , but he doesn’t mind volunteering facts about his species, his planet, and the galaxy. He’s something called a rhewcraidd, from a planet called Lluwchfeydd. His planet apparently is much further from its sun than Earth is; everyone there is cold, cold, cold, down to the ability to  _ shoot ice from their hands _ . Len even wears a little device on his arm to help focus the ice-field into a sharper, more potent beam. 

It even turns out that Len can make himself look like a human, and a  _ very _ attractive one at that. He takes his human form when he leaves the house, whether it be to follow Mick around or go case whatever lab or facility he was checking out next. Mick’s pretty sure his neighbors all think he has a boy-toy or something, but honestly, he  _ wishes _ the cute, funny alien was his _ , _ but Len never touches him, not at all. He flinches away from any contact, igniting a subtle anger in Mick that makes him want to crush whoever hurt his beautiful alien.

* * *

Mick is always glued to the news when Len is on. He’d left just before five in the morning for Central City National Bank, saying he was getting something stored in a scientist’s safety deposit box, but Mick just figured he was doing it for the challenge of it. It was no surprise to Mick; the shine in Len’s eye when he was planning a heist mirrored the one in Mick’s own when he watched a fire. 

It was supposed to be a standard, quick thing. Len shouldn’t even  _ be _ on the eight o’clock news, but someone had called the police while a _ bright red blur of motion burst on the scene and started fighting with his Lenny _ . A sick anxiety burns in Mick’s stomach, and he watches as the red streak gets Len on his stomach, tying him up for the cops. Len is kicking and hollering, trying to get free, but the streak has already trussed him up and left. What the  _ fuck.  _

Of course Len slips away from the cops in transit, but Mick is so worried that he’s still awake, sitting on the couch sipping a cheap beer and watching the door when he comes home nearly two hours later. Mick leaps to his feet when the door opens, an exhausted-looking Len slipping in, human form abandoned.

“You’re still up?” he sounds surprised, the idiot.

“Of fucking  _ course _ I’m still up, what the fuck was that?”

Len shakes his head. “I don’t know. But I’m going to  _ beat _ him. It’s a  _ person _ , Mick. I’m going to bait him.”

Mick picks Len up and tosses him over his shoulder. “ _ You _ are going  _ the fuck to bed _ . I  _ know _ you got knocked around during that, Len. You gotta  _ rest _ .” 

Mick tosses Len onto the only bed in the farmhouse and takes the couch. Something uncurls in his gut with the confirmation that Len is  _ here, here  _ and  _ safe _ , and he finally gets some sleep.

The next morning, Mick awakens to the smell of burning. He pulls himself off the couch, stretching out as he makes his way into the kitchen. “What’re you doing?” he slurs, still half asleep.

Len jumps, the crusted remains of a pancake flipping out of the pan and onto the stove as he does. “Fuck! Don’t startle me like that,” he says, turning to Mick. “I was  _ trying  _ to make breakfast. As a thank you.” He isn’t making eye contact with Mick, who feels warm all over. 

“How about letting me take over, huh?” Mick says after a pause

Len nods, thank god, before seeming to remember something. His antennae are flushed yellow as he reaches for the bag he left by the front door the night before. He lets Mick take over the pancakes, salvaging the rest of the batch, before offering the human something with a smile. Len’s teeth are sharper than a human’s, like little nubby fangs, and by all rights, his smiles should be sinister. Mick mostly finds them kind of cute. Mick takes the object from Len’s hand. 

It’s a fire opal, gleaming bright and beautiful. 

“Found it in someone’s safety deposit box. Thought of you,” Len interjects as casually as he can. “Keep it.”

“Len, this is way too much. What will I even do with it?”

He shrugs. “Do with it whatever you want. It’s yours.”

Mick puts it in his drawer with his most precious things. A  _ gift _ , ostensibly for no reason, just because Lenny thought of  _ him _ . He smiles like a damn fool for the rest of the week.

* * *

Len comes home from his newest heist practically vibrating with glee. “Mick, Mick, come see, you won’t believe this,” he calls, his expression like the cat that got the canary. “Look!”

His spoils include whatever part he needed for his ship, of course — Len is a  _ masterful _ thief even without future tech — but on the table, in a shiny metal box, is a strangely-shaped gun. Len, who found out about Mick’s pyromania about a week into their cohabitation, pushes it towards him. “Go on, it’s for you. Might want to go outside to test it, though,” he drawls. 

Mick goes outside. He torches an entire hay bale and manages to terrify a goat. When he goes back inside, a smile, a real, genuine one, threatens to break out on his face. Len claps him on the shoulder. “You like it?”

“I  _ love _ it.” 

“I figure . . . well, y’know. I’m a wanted man. I figure that if the authorities come here, come looking for me, they might come after you too. It’s better if you have something to protect yourself with.” Len’s looking away from Mick, his antennae  _ bright pink _ . Mick’s been around him long enough to know that’s Len’s equivalent of a blush. “Don’t give me that look. I’m just looking out for my partner.”

“ . . . Partner?”

Len looks at his hands, fidgeting. “Well, I . . .” He suddenly looks back up. “Do you mind me touching you? It’s easier to show you.”

Mick shrugs, and Len peels off his sleek faux-leather glove. His hands are beautiful, fingers slim and long and nails neatly filed. He reaches out slowly and takes Mick’s hand and suddenly Mick is seeing the bright vivid curiosity, the angles and edges, and the soft, pulsing core of Len’s mind. 

It’s the most beautiful thing Mick’s ever seen. He sees everything Len is; it’s not so much his memories, but  _ him, _ and three tidbits of knowledge come to him:

One, skin-to-skin touch is  _ incredibly _ intimate to Len’s people.

Two, Len doesn’t know what Mick’s feeling half the time, and he wishes that the human had antennae for Len to touch with his own.

Three, Len likes him. Really likes him. He doesn’t know if three months together is long enough to fall in  _ love,  _ but Len is definitely on the right track. 

Len pulls his hand away, eyes to the ground, and Mick cups his face and kisses him. 

It’s even better than he thought it would be.

* * *

Mick insists on accompanying Len on his next heist. He wants to be there if the weird streak shows up, no matter that Lenny with his ice powers is perfectly suited for dealing with speed anyway. He isn’t going to leave his partner alone to face whatever it is. 

It turns out the streak  _ does _ show up, and he’s a skinny white guy. Well, that’s . . . new. 

Hanging out with Lenny has really done a number on Mick’s sense of normal. 

Lenny strikes at the speedster with his ice, blasts of freezing wind and beams of glacial fire keeping him on his toes while Mick raids the safe. Mick’s even wearing a mask— _ no sense in endangering the farm, now, _ Len’d said — and he uses the heat gun whenever the streak gets too close. 

And then the streak has to go and call Len ‘ _ Captain Cold’ _ of all things. Mick’s going to off himself to escape the puns, he swears.

He definitely doesn’t laugh when Len says that the speedster’s performance was  _ out of this world _ , although Len’s human-skin is on and the streak just looks confused by the pun. 

The heist goes well, the two of them slipping away by the skin of their teeth, and Len fucking  _ waves jauntily _ at the streak as they get away.

Smug bastard.

  
  


It turns out that the speedster is called the Flash, and he’s a good kid, and Len likes him. Mick doesn’t mind. Len needs more Earth-friends, ones he can rely on. 

It has nothing to do with the fact that between Mick and the Flash, Len is so entertained he’s lost almost all thought of leaving Earth.

Mick’s so settled into the supervillain routine, having more fun than he’s had in years, coming home to a partner who loves him—loves him! He can’t believe it, and Len would never say it  _ out loud _ , but Mick knows—that the trouble takes him by surprise.

It comes in the form of Len breaking his leg. He’d been running from the police with Mick, and they were almost to the getaway car when he tripped over a curb and it snapped. Mick heard the sound from nearly ten feet away. He’d picked Len up and carried him the rest of the way to the car, but Mick is a  _ farm boy _ , not a doctor, much less a doctor for aliens. So Mick does the only thing that he can think to do — he drives them to STAR Labs. Len’s human-illusion dissipates on the way, leaving him blue and pointy-eared and antennaed. 

He picks the lock on the door—thank you for the lessons, Len—and lets them in. There’s a woman, well-dressed with long hair, and a long-haired nerdy-looking man already inside. Mick’s still carrying Len, so he sets him on a chair. “Help him. Please,” he pleads. 

* * *

Cisco Ramon wasn’t expecting to see an _ alien _ when he got up this morning. He has the coolest job. Of course, he isn’t thrilled about the alien being  _ Captain Cold _ , but he’ll deal. Caitlin won’t let someone die, not even Cold, even though Cold really isn’t that bad when he isn’t threatening people, so she’s got him on her worktable.

All of Cisco’s excitement hinges, of course, on if Cold really  _ is _ an alien. Caitlin is already checking over his unconscious body. Heatwave—and damn, Cisco has to learn his real name eventually—got sent outside to pace, but he’s intermittently sticking his head back in to check on his partner. 

Caitlin blanches as she takes Cold’s pulse and temperature. “He—he really is an alien. What even . . . ?” she trails off. 

Cisco checks the readings. His temperature is barely 16 degrees Celsius, and his pulse is slow but steady. Cold indeed, Cisco mentally snickers. 

Barry comes back in the middle of Caitlin measuring every one of Cold’s vitals that she can.

“Um. What?” he asks nobody in particular.

Cisco grins, bringing him closer. “Captain Cold is an  _ alien! _ ”

Barry looks at him askance. “Are we sure he isn’t just a meta?”  
“He ain’t a meta,” Heatwave interjects.

Barry jumps. “What is  _ he _ doing here!” 

Heatwave gestures at Cold. “Where he goes, I go.”

Eventually, Caitlin gets Cold patched up enough that he just needs to rest, and Heatwave stays with him the whole time. Heatwave grasps one of Cold’s blue hands in both of his own normally-colored ones and sits by his bedside. When Cold wakes up, nearly four hours later, Heatwave has dozed off himself. 

“Mick?” Cold asks blearily, antennae blinking on into a purple glow. 

“Len,” Heatwave (Mick? Cisco isn’t sure) sighs, pressing his forehead against Cold’s (Len’s?). Barry has been waiting, watching the two to make sure they don’t get up to anything. He gets up now, approaching the supervillains, who separate only slightly.

“So, what happened? Are you really an alien?” 

Cold grimaces. “Yeah. Name’s L’annwyd’llaw. This is Mick.” 

Barry looks ill. “Any chance of shortening that?”

“Len’s fine. Thanks for . . . y’know.”

Heatwave, Mick, stays silent, watching them, although his eyes are far more focused on Len (Cisco can’t believe Captain Cold is an  _ alien named Len _ ) than on any member of the team. Barry shrugs. 

“Thank Caitlin.”   
“I will.” Len shifts awkwardly. “Is there something you want in exchange?”

Barry stares at him. “What do you mean?”

Mick takes Len’s hand. They stare at each other for a minute before visibly relaxing.

“What Lenny’s saying is that,” he paused, visibly hesitating. “We won’t steal anything for a while. We’ll lay low,” Mick rumbles.   
“Really?” Barry looks shocked, but Len and Mick are both already nodding. 

“We owe you one. We won’t forget this,” Len says. He looks like the words are making him physically ill.

After exchanging a few more pleasantries, Mick gathers Len into a princess carry as gently as he can and leaves. Cisco watches, more than a little confused by the evening’s proceedings.

Barry groans.

“Are you okay?”

The speedster sighs. “I’m just now realizing that Cold’s puns were even worse than we thought."

**Author's Note:**

> comments are my lifeblood and i'm always open to criticism/ideas!! i might write more in this AU, i have.................ideas.


End file.
